


half-sick of shadows

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angel/Whore Dichotomy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background E/C, F/F, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” Carlotta says. “But you weren’t answering, so I thought I might as well. Since, after all, this is usually my dressing room. I have a key.” She shrugs self deprecatingly. In the mirror Christine watches her inspect what changes Christine has made to her dressing table.Carlotta should not be here. Erik might arrive any minute to pick Christine up, take her down to his house for the night as he has been doing more and more often. Erik will not come in if Carlotta is here, and he will be displeased if he is kept out. Still, it would be a task to kick her out. Surely it can be excused if Christine lets her stay a little longer.





	half-sick of shadows

She is standing in front of the mirror when Carlotta comes in. How long she has been standing there she is not sure, but Carlotta says that everyone has finished dressing and breaking down the set so that means it has probably been a couple hours. Still, she does not move.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” Carlotta says. “But you weren’t answering, so I thought I might as well. Since, after all, this is usually my dressing room. I have a key.” She shrugs self deprecatingly. In the mirror Christine watches her inspect what changes Christine has made to her dressing table.

Carlotta should not be here. Erik might arrive any minute to pick Christine up, take her down to his house for the night as he has been doing more and more often. Erik will not come in if Carlotta is here, and he will be displeased if he is kept out. Still, it would be a task to kick her out. Surely it can be excused if Christine waits for her to leave on her own.

“I was delegated to give you a message,” Carlotta says, voice still sardonic. “Sent by your ballet girl friends. You seem to have quite a following among them. Well, of course until a couple weeks ago you were one of them…still you are certainly popular. They all begged me to get you. They want you to go out with them to a certain inn, since this is the last night of _Hannibal_. There will be lots of celebrating. So I expect you will want to join.” Another shrug.

Erik will be expecting her to be here. And Erik has told her not to spend so much time with the other performers.

_“All those crude girls, strutting around with their legs uncovered up to their waists. I have seen them backstage with patrons or even stagehands, whoring themselves out, sometimes for money, sometimes just for a word of praise. You will not associate yourself with such filth, Christine. You are not like them, and I will not let them besmirch you.” A hand, feather-light, skims her cheek. “You are different, my love. Let yourself stand apart.”_

“Please tell them I can’t go out tonight.”

“Won’t you?” Carlotta in the mirror raises her eyebrows.

“I can’t. Please give them my apologies…”

“And what has you so busy?”

“It’s…it’s personal.”

“A lover? Does the little ingénue already have a lover?” Carlotta steps closer. “Even the gossip says you are still a virgin. This is quite the news.”

_“Crude, lewd, and disgraceful. You are so different from them. Pure, like a dove. You remind me of the angel statues they have at the Notre Dame. Have you ever seen them?”_

_She has always preferred the statues of gargoyles._

_“I worry that I will dirty you, you know. I almost convince myself to stay away.” He stands behind her, so close his chest almost touches her back, but not quite. “But you are so entrancing to me, love…I can never leave you. But you must promise me you will always stay the same, and not let your poor Erik or any other man corrupt you.”_

 “It is not a lover. But it is personal.” She folds her arms around her waist. “Please make my excuses.”

“Make them yourself.”

“I can’t. I have to stay here and practice my singing. For now. Please make my excuses.”

Carlotta turns the chair from the dressing table to face her, and sits down on it. “Well, I don’t blame you. These parties are rarely all they’re cracked up to be.” She sniffs. “Every time they convince me to go, I end up getting groped by half a dozen men…usually more, to be frank, and I’m sure you don’t want to hang around that sort of crowd. Everyone gets hideously drunk. I’m sure it’s not your sort of affair.”

No, probably not. She’s never been much for parties. For a moment, though, she can hear the sound of raucous drinking songs. Meg has never been trained as an opera singer, has no diligent tutor like Christine, but get half a pint of whiskey in her and she’ll swear that she is herself the angel of music, and sing for the rest of the evening. Christine has not gone out with her in months, now, but that’s probably not something she should miss.

The room is silent except for the bustling noises from the hallway. Voices from other rooms. They really do sound jubilant. Christine wonders why Carlotta hasn’t left yet. She won’t be joining this party, most likely—wasn’t part of this opera, after all, after her dramatic breakdown—but she must have better places to be than here. What can she and Christine have to say to each other?

“You are a very good singer.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve garnered quite a few fans. Well, people love a rising star.” Carlotta stands and begins pacing. Sometimes she paces out of the mirror’s range and Christine loses sight of her. “Not that you need me to tell that to you.”

“I’m only standing in your place until you wish to return.” Erik has said they will destroy Carlotta utterly, crush her spirit and leave her a broken has-been, but while Christine nods and agrees when he is there, she feels guilty about that now. Carlotta has a dramatic streak, but tonight she is being kind. Christine wishes she were not set on a path to fight her. But it is not a path she has set.

“Still, you may get some supporting roles now. Paris is taken with you.”

“We’ll see.”

“They say you do not let any fans into your room. Do you dislike the fame?”

_“They will love you. They see a light in you that no one else has in this dirty, filthy world. We will let them love you, for a time. But you do not belong to them. You belong to heaven…and to me. Your unworthy angel.”_

“I have never been good with crowds or strangers.”

“You may have to learn.”

“I may.”

“Do you ever look away from that mirror?” Carlotta’s voice spikes with annoyance.

Christine shrugs and pulls her arms tighter against her waist. When will Carlotta leave?

Carlotta has stopped pacing. She steps behind Christine, though a foot behind, not as close as Erik would stand. Her face in the mirror is tight, as it is before she calls out a director for breaking her concentration or a pianist for playing the wrong note. “Enough of this. I would be honest with you. You are a conceited little prig with no respect for your audience, for your cast members, or for those who go before you. Do you understand what it is to be a diva?” Her voice grows higher and louder as she speaks. “You play a role for those who adore you! You go to the parties. You accept your guests. And when a prima donna, your better, speaks to you, you turn around and look her in the eyes!”

“I am sorry.” Christine can feel her blank face trembling. She puts a hand up to cover it, to hold it together. The face in the mirror disappears.

“Are you crying now?”

Her throat is tight, but she tries to swallow the urge. “No.”

Carlotta huffs. Christine’s body shakes. She has begun to sob, but she bites back the noise. A pair of thick arms fold around her waist and gently pull her away from the mirror. Carlotta maneuvers her into her chair.

“Ay. You can’t even manage this part of it right, can you?”

Christine shrugs. She doesn’t look up.

“When a diva cries, she doesn’t do it quietly. She does it loudly. You are supposed to rub it in that I am hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Her voice comes out rough and tremorous.

“See? You are doing it all wrong.”

“I’m not really a diva,” Christine admits.

“Ah. You are just a little girl.” Carlotta rubs her shoulders. Her hands are strong. “I think perhaps you should go out tonight. Not with the cast, perhaps. But come out with me. An evening away from work will do you good.”

“I can’t…”

“Can’t you?”

Erik will be waiting. Erik will want to see her.

She doesn’t want to see Erik right now.

“Where would we go?” she asks.

 

* * *

 

Carlotta really must think Christine is a delicate flower because she doesn’t take her to an inn or a pub but instead brings her on a walk in the gardens. It is fall, and the trees are beginning to lose their leaves. It is not as glamorous as it might be sometime in summer, but it is quiet. Only a few couples stroll the park at this late hour.

Christine does not have anything to say to her, even now. She admires Carlotta’s work, but has spent so long scheming with Erik against her that she does not know how to talk to her without somehow being rude. Carlotta fills up the silence with this and that. She tells Christine who Meg Giry’s latest lover is, and Christine can’t believe she hasn’t talked to Meg in so long that she doesn’t know. She mentions how she’s seen the de Chagny family at the opera every night lately and isn’t that odd—Christine does not tell her how the name is familiar from her childhood.

And she gives Christine a lot of advice.

“Obviously it’s unlikely you’ll get another leading role soon.”

“Obviously,” Christine agrees, even though if Erik has anything to say about it…

“But it is never too soon to start learning how to act. I know that it’s a lot of pressure, but…” Carlotta flings her head back. Christine wonders howshe avoids losing her hat. “We are in high demand, cariña. We have to deal with it.”

“I am not so much in…”

“You’d be surprised,” Carlotta says. “You’ve been holing yourself up in your room so you haven’t seen how much the people long to see your face. In a way it’s worked in your favor. They call you a woman of mystery. It’s always good to give people less of you than they want…except on stage. There, you must give everything. You must be everything. Like a goddess.”

“Or an angel,” Christine murmurs.

“Well, you may be the latter. I do not have the taste for that sort of piety.” Carlotta laughs. “It will appeal for a little while…though eventually, men want a taste of what they pay for…”

This is exactly the kind of thing Erik is always talking about. Crudity, corruption. Christine says, “Do you really sleep with your patrons?”

Carlotta gasps. Spinning around, she says, “Is that the sort of question for an ingénue to ask her elder?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Hmph. You really are untaught.” Carlotta beckons her closer. “Now, you don’t necessarily have to give that much of yourself to anyone unless you want to. Though it is not always a bad thing. But the men must always think you might, and that will keep them coming to you, wanting you. Do you understand?”

Christine nods.

_“I saw you smiling at that count the other day. From now on, do not even look them in the eyes. They must not think they could be yours…you are so far above them as a star, you must not be within their reach, and they must know it.”_

“Of course it can be trying. It seems you have no taste for men.”

“Not much of one,” Christine admits.

“They can be amusing, if you give them a chance. Sometimes. But what really matters is that you pretend to be interested, even if you are not.”

There is a pond in the park, and there are little boats which you can rent for a cheap price. Carlotta shells out the money. She says this is one of her favorite things to do in the evening.

Christine leans back. She wants to lie down and let the rocking of the boat carry her away, physically, spiritually. So that she will not have to return to the Opera Populaire and to Erik. She loves him. She has told him she loves him and belongs to him. But she can’t face him, and she can’t be what he wants her to be. If she spends one more evening staring into that mirror and waiting for him to show up, she will go mad.

“Will you sing for me, dove?”

Christine startles. The words sound like they should be Erik’s, but it is still Carlotta, and her casual request is nothing like the tone of his worshipful voice.

“I would be honored if you would sing for me,” she says.

“Ah, but you are the maiden of the hour.”

“Very well.” Now she begins to feel restless. She sits up and sings a piece from _Tristan und Isolde_. Carlotta applauds her when she is done.

“You know, I might easily become one of your admirers. You do have a voice,” she says. “I watched you sing in every performance, you know. I attended every night.”

“Did you?”

“I thought I would gloat if you were bad. But you were very good. And then I thought I should hate you, but somehow I couldn’t.” Carlotta touches her arm. “You were too lovely.”

_“My beautiful maiden, my living bride. All will see in you a perfection they cannot help but adore. And they will love you and hate you, as all must, as I do.”_

“Perhaps you should hate me,” Christine says.

“Impossible.”

“I think it is very possible,” Christine says. She touches her face. “Why don’t you—because I am beautiful?” More and more often lately, her cheeks feel like porcelain to her own fingers.

“Because in your singing there was a certain spirit of joy and innocence.”

Erik would say the same. “Maybe I’m not so innocent,” Christine says. It is something she would not dare to say to him. He would scream and weep at the implication.

But Carlotta only smirks. “Oh? Well, after all, to sing is only to play a role, though you do it masterfully.”

“I’m really not so innocent.” She is gaining confidence. “I mean…I’m flattered you enjoy my performance. But I’m just like anyone else. I have as many flaws. As many desires.” She looks into Carlotta’s eyes. Surely, of all people, she should understand.

Carlotta is smiling. “We all do have desires. And what is it you want?”

“I…” A response she was not expecting. They’ve gone from philosophical to personal in the space of a breath. “Well, I don’t know.”

Carlotta cups her chin in her hands. “Is it that, or is it something you simply cannot speak?”

“No. Really I don’t know. Lately I feel confused about everything.”

“Let me help you,” Carlotta murmurs. “I can make things simple for you, bella. Will you let me?”

Her eyelids are half lowered but her gaze is intense. Christine can’t read her meaning, but she feels a fluttering of premonition, and her heart is beating fast. She swallows. “Yes.”

Carlotta kisses her.

Her lips are smooth. They taste of waxy lipstick, which she wears even when not onstage. Christine’s own lipstick has already been removed, but now her lips will be smudged red again. She should be more surprised at this, but somehow it feels natural. The step from casual confidant to amante is short and simple, and she likes the change, the intimacy of Carlotta’s hands on her waist.

“Thank you,” she says when Carlotta leans away. She feels that she has received a gift, but perhaps it is the wrong thing to say. Carlotta laughs.

“So many ways that you must be taught, lovely.”

She licks her lips. “Will you show me more?”

“Gladly.”

Christine has heard people say that women who love women are vain, infatuated with similarity, that it is like loving a reflection. There is nothing less like looking in her mirror than this, giving herself over to Carlotta, letting Carlotta simplify things for her, and carry her mind away for a moment. She is different. She is transformed.

She does not want the moment to end but it does. Carlotta leans away, as she really must. No one can kiss forever, and there are people onshore who might notice them if they keep this up.

“Will you come home with me tonight?” Carlotta asks.

“Why not?”

Carlotta laughs again. “Why not. Yes. Shall we row ourselves back to shore?” Though in the end she does most of the rowing. Christine doesn’t have enough muscle to be very much help—she was stronger in Sweden but it seems the longer she stays in Paris, the weaker she gets. Her health is deteriorating. Her father would be a mess if he knew—but she will not think about that right now, or what the causes might be, because Carlotta is here to help her so what is there to worry about?

They get a carriage to drive them to Carlotta’s apartment. Carlotta is splurging, and she seems to be enjoying herself. Her color is high in the lamplight, pink and red. Christine has always noticed that when her face is not covered in foundation she flushes easily. She has thought it attractive, in an idle way. Now it stirs desire in her. She wants to get to Carlotta’s home quickly, to see what it is Carlotta has in mind for the evening that has her so excited.

The place is a bit garishly decorated, covered in old posters and small paintings, some tasteful landscapes and some bawdy images. Carlotta tells Christine that many of them come from old lovers. Of course she must have many old lovers. Christine nods. Wonders if they were all men. Wonders if she qualifies as a lover tonight, or whether she might in the future, and whether Carlotta is thinking about the future or just tonight. Christine is really only thinking about tonight. If she thinks further ahead she will be too frightened to do…well, even thinking that far ahead is honestly a little frightening.

But Carlotta calls her into the bedroom. She is already unlacing her corset, and her hair has been shook down from its careful arrangement. Christine follows her. There is a mirror on the wall, hanging over another dressing table. Christine does not give it even a glance. She keeps her eyes on Carlotta as Carlotta reveals first her shift, and then wide expanses of skin, dotted here and there with freckles. She does not look away from Carlotta, even as she takes off her own dress and undergarments. Her eyes are fixed on Carlotta’s eyes as they fall onto the bed side by side, then on Carlotta’s hands as they slide down her waist. She will take Carlotta in, swallow and devour her. She will let herself be corrupted. She will let herself be _like one of those damned whores_ , it doesn’t matter anymore, all that matters is Carlotta’s fingers on her clit, Carlotta’s lips on her neck.

When she goes into her dressing room tomorrow to take her things out—it will belong to someone else for the next opera, after all—she will find the mirror has a large crack in it, running horizontally. The room will be locked. The managers will look at her with annoyance but Carlotta will say no, it was not cracked when they were there last, it can’t be Christine’s fault. Another little mystery of the opera house. Funny, all these little mysteries. And Christine will shudder but Carlotta will drape an arm around her and say pay it no heed, you are a diva now, you are stronger than this. She will hope this proves to be true.

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking that since mirrors are kind of a thing in POTO, it might be fun to write a fic themed around the Lady of Shalott. That's...kind of what this is. And also kind of not.  
> (Did you enjoy the angel/whore dichotomy? I love me some angel/whore dichotomy.)  
> Anyways, it's been like three months since I last wrote Carlotta/Christine so it was about time. Hope you enjoyed! Talk to me in the comments or on tumblr at convenientalias.


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